


Nowhere Man

by neevebrody



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neevebrody/pseuds/neevebrody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why didn't he go beyond the Ring?  With a mind like his, what kept him bound to a place where no one had wanted him?  Pride, pettiness, spite… what hold did this place have?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nowhere Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 McShep Match to the prompt: lock, stock and barrel  
> This is a story to be read with a grain of salt, a flight of fancy, and a hand over your heart.

_He's a real nowhere man,  
Sitting in his Nowhere Land…_

 

He lived on the edge of nowhere, at least he thought of it as nowhere. It used to be somewhere before all the people disappeared. The Wraith had taken many; the rest had picked up and abandoned their homes, traveled through the ring of the Ancestors or across the outlands and on to parts unknown. 

Gone were the days of bustling streets, trade markets, expeditions, and people always at his door. Instead, he was left with ever-looming remembrances of cullings, failed plans, and the accident. Perhaps that was why he stayed – he was the Chief Planner. People depended on… people _had_ depended on him. He and his fellow planners had enhanced village life with numerous technical amenities, while struggling to keep a low profile. Crops and trade flourished with the aid of the irrigation system, and he shuddered to think of the pace of progress had he not devised a plan for a fair, representational form of governance with the town council. All that, and he wasn't even counting the stacks and stacks of plans he'd made 'just in case.' 

How would the people have known how and when to cross the outlands if he hadn't started to map them? He'd never gone beyond them himself, and, ultimately, the mapping project fell away under the weight of more important plans. Of course, none of that mattered anymore.

Sundown painted shadows with fierce orange strokes on the walls of his office. Like a caricature against the warm, paneled walls, one shadow moved continually in a symphony of words and gestures.

"But I have to! We're all that's left, and I'm certainly not getting any help from you. I'm the only one and this is the only way. No surprise there," he said with another wave of his hand and a dismissive snort. "It's always up to me, isn't it? Just think if the Wraith return or we were overpowered by another force – and I know what you're thinking, it wouldn't take much of a force. Ha-ha."

At the man's feet and out of the way of the man's pacing feet, a small dog sat dusting the wooden floor with his tail, which was really only half a tail. "Fluffy" offered a bark and cocked his head.

"Well, of course, the secrets would be destroyed but still safe from those who would use them to harm or oppress others." The man returned to the center of the room and spread his wide, flat hands out over the large sheet of parchment atop his drafting table. "Besides, this dark hole of society can't be the only place in the Pegasus galaxy where those Ancients left knowledge – not by the number of planets and systems in that library. And I've been copying the most important plans I can find…"

He tipped his mug and let his words trail off at the disinterest of his companion. The Maté beverage was bitter – he couldn't understand why he had trouble getting it right – but he drank it anyway. Maybe the trick was grinding the roots daily. He stretched and groaned with pleasure when his back popped in just the right way. Gingerly, he shifted his weight on the stool where he perched, craning to get a glimpse of the great clock in the square. It was working again and, owing to his plan of regular maintenance, kept good time as far as he knew. 

Some days he missed the people, the attention. And just between him and Fluffy, he missed working with the team – even if he had to do most of the brainwork for all of them.

"All that's needed now is something to assure the charge will detonate," he said, "Perhaps the Genii would be up for a little trading… what do you think?"

The dog snapped at the air then turned in circles, growling menacingly.

"Oh, that's right. I'd almost forgotten – suppose that lets out the Genii, then, eh?"

Setting his mug down, a yawn caught him quite by surprise. "Let's deal with all this tomorrow," he said good-naturedly as he began to roll up the parchment he'd been working on. Time now wasn't like it used to be. He could go to the inn, fix a bit of supper, crack open one of his freshly brewed ales, and enjoy the quiet. He could sit outside on the brick courtyard anytime he wanted. That's where he'd built the aviary – a place where he could listen to the birds and watch their movement without interruption. Tonight, maybe he'd walk to the ancient city and find something new in the projection room. His plans could wait; he had nothing but time.

Reaching for the lamp, he heard it. It took a minute to recognize the sound as the perimeter alarm at the Ring of the Ancestors. Only one signal, which meant one person on foot or a ship. Panic rose as he abandoned his plan and went to the window. He looked first toward the ancient spire, noting the way the hour lit the ghostly outline in the distance, and then in the direction of the great Ring. He could see no airships. Clever Wraith or traveler in trouble? Despite his misgivings, his spirits began to lift thinking it might be a lone traveler. 

Quickly, he took a leather bag from a hook by the door and stuffed all his emergency plans inside. Making sure he had a few morsels of food and some water, he grabbed his walking staff and set out toward the Ring along his own path. There he could observe the area without risk of detection.

The skies overhead had just gone a dull gray, that boring midline between the glorious fire of sunset and the sweeping, heavenly shroud of night yet to come. His path took him through a glade bordered by bracken and heather that, while even in their bloom, still possessed the ability to draw blood from unprotected limbs. At this time of day, each step gave off a dewy scent that made him visualize the bright green of the young grass under his feet, and offered a heady nose from the leavings of sun-dipped furze flowers and after-rain.

As silently as he could, he approached the clearing, just able to see the top of the Ring. Coming closer, the full sight made him drop his bag – he likely had no plan inside it to help him anyway. The airship resting serenely in the clearing was… but that was impossible. He'd seen it before, but not in practical form. 

The ship drank in the platinum rays from the moons but returned only a dull shadow. Its familiar lines and curves pleased his eye, but lacked the meticulous structure of wings he envisioned in his own plan for a flying machine.

Trouble, perhaps? There appeared to be faint scorch marks and some buckling on the side. And the markings… even from a distance, there was no mistaking them. They were absolutely the same as the ones he'd seen from the projected memories in the Ancient city. Where had these travelers come from with their airship of Ancient design? He was just about to make a few sketches when he saw movement on the ground.

 

_He's as blind as he can be,  
Just sees what he wants to see_

The hatch at the rear of the ship emitted a soft hum as it lowered, flooding the area with light, and affording him a more excellent view of the three people who emerged. A very striking figure led the way. It put the man in mind of the stories he'd read as a child – about visitors through the Ring coming from the stars far away. He'd always imagined them dressed in shiny suits with their heads wrapped in metal. But not this one. This one dressed all in black. Even so, it was impossible to think of the man as anything but a Starman.

Two others followed closely behind: a smaller figure dressed the same and a tall, angry-looking man. From the color of the hair and the gait, he guessed the smaller one to be a woman. The tall man dressed differently, but his features were no less imposing. He read their body language as frustrated or resigned but certainly not alarmed. No, they weren't frightened of being in a new place with dangers unknown to them.

The tall one walked ahead a few paces, knelt to the ground, and looked off into the distance. A tracker? He pointed in the direction of the road into town and the three of them set off. 

The man snatched up his plans and hurried along his shortcut. These people did need help, and he felt practically giddy with the notion of finding out more about the airship.

He caught up with them only a few yards away. He hadn't actually thought ahead to the dangers of leaping out from the brush at perfect strangers, and found his greeting in the snap and click of weapons raised and readied.

"No, no, no – wait!" he cried, hands shooting skyward. The leather bag swung around and caught the small of his back, as there seemed an interminable amount of time where everyone just stared. Finally, he took a step closer and felt no misgivings whatsoever in offering his help. "I came to welcome you and perhaps be of assistance with your airship?"

He was somewhat surprised to see them all relax and lower their weapons. The smaller of them – the woman – looked back at him with penetrating eyes. The words "warrior princess" leapt to mind, as she seemed to favor him with a look like lioness with her cub. He lowered his arms. A Starman, a Tracker, and a Warrior Princess all in one day, _and_ they needed his help.

"The name is M-McKay," he said. "Mere? Meredi – no – Rodney, uhm, M. Rodney McKay, Chief Planner of – well, the town isn't officially a town anymore, so I suppose it really doesn't matter of where, does it?"

The three travelers exchanged glances. The Starman extended his hand and introduced himself. Rodney raised his hand and then pulled it back. He stared at his palm a moment, then looked back at the group.

"Wraith, isn't it?" he asked, motioning to tall man's necklace. "I've seen one before—very similar to that." As it was merely a gesture of goodwill or breaking the ice, Rodney couldn't understand why his mention of the necklace seemed to delight the trio. The Tracker seemed especially pleased. 

"Wait a minute, don't I know you?" Rodney asked him. "Weren't you part of a Hoffan security detail that visited here a while back?" 

In the blink of an eye, frowns clouded their faces, making Rodney wonder if he'd given offense. The Hoffans weren't that bad… maybe a touch too impetuous, but that…

"We could use some help with the 'jumper, but I doubt you're familiar with the –"

It took a few moments for Rodney to realize he was speaking of their ship. He patted his bag. "Oh, no, I should have something here to help – always carry plans with me."

"You have plans in there for airships?" the Tracker asked, nodding at the leather bag.

"Actually, I do." Rodney glanced down and shuffled through the papers. "Only it looks as if they're the ones to my own design and not your…" He looked up then and smiled. "It's more habit really, carrying the plans – I've got most of them memorized anyway."

They hadn't offered any information about who they were or where they'd come from, but that wasn't unusual for travelers in trouble, and he felt no need to push, yet. He didn't need to know them to help them.

"As I was saying, I have nothing useful here; however, the village is only a brisk walk away."

The Starman smirked. "And by brisk you mean…"

"Invigorating," Rodney replied, looking them over. "But you all look up to the trip."

"Well, that's fine, but we've got something better." The Starman's words were soft and even; they seemed to lean against the air.

"Better than plans?" Rodney thought better of laughing; it might work to his advantage to rein in his arrogance for a change. "Well, sure, I've performed repairs on the fly many times. Do you by chance have existing schematics?" he asked the tall one. 

"Actually, we do," the Starman answered. He motioned in the direction of the ship and Rodney followed his lead.

The lines were just as clean inside the craft and Rodney tried to look and touch everything at once. The Starman called the lighted dimensional display in front of them the HUD; he appeared to control it with his mind. "Oh… I've seen this before," Rodney said absently, eyeing the floating screen, and mostly ignoring the Starman's sidewise glance. He watched the Starman point to a particular spot.

"This seems to be our trouble," he said, and the area he indicated enlarged at once. Lines of detailed information and readings began to scroll across the display.

McKay noised thoughtfully to himself. Nothing he saw indicated real evidence of damage. The answer should have been obvious, but maybe so obvious it eluded him, which was unacceptable. "Do you have a display that shows these crystal arrangements?"

The Starman gave him a grin, and Rodney feared he might have misspoken, but the next item on the display was exactly what he'd requested. He had worked hard to catalogue several different crystal formations he believed the Ancients had used; however, he thought it best to keep that information to himself for the time being. Finding that room, with its projected oral and technical histories, had been most fortuitous and something he'd kept secret from the Council. The only person to share the knowledge had been his assistant, and even then, he hadn't been privy to everything.

"Did you say you were struck?" Rodney asked.

"I didn't say." The Starman pointed to what appeared to be a damaged crystal. "Can you tell from this?"

He sensed a thread of hope in the Starman's voice and maybe something of relief in his eyes. "It's – I noticed scorch marks on the side of the hull," McKay replied, the many patterns of the array in front of him circled his mind until finally clicking like tumblers in a lock. "Yes, I think I can help you."

"Great, how long will it take?" the Tracker asked.

Rodney turned from the display and rubbed his hands together. "Oh, well – I've never – I mean I've never actually worked on a ship like this, you understand. I've only seen them in the projections, but…" He trailed off at the look on the Starman's face, a look that gave him a twisty feeling in his stomach. "What I meant was that I wouldn't care to hazard a guess about time… it could be a few minutes or a few hours."

At that, the Starman scrubbed his hand over his chin and drew his lips together into a tight line. It was a movement that made Rodney want to see him do it again.

Without another word, he got up out of the seat and went to the back of the ship. He let his hands glide over the many surfaces, as if he might draw all the secrets of the machine in through his skin. Opening panels, he finally located the power crystals. After a few moments of mentally sorting through the array, he could feel the weight of the Starman's gaze. It made him uncomfortable in a way he found hard to explain. He'd certainly mastered repairs and devised plans under a lot more pressure than this.

"You and your friends are free to walk on into the village if you like," he said, not turning to face the Starman. "It's straight ahead – follow the road."

"I think we'll just hang around, if it's all the same to you."

"Yes, well, can you _hang around_ somewhere other than here?"

Rodney heard a soft chuckle behind him followed by footsteps. "Sure," the Starman said, with an odd though comforting lilt to his voice. "Wouldn't want to _distract_ you. We'll check out the perimeter around the 'gate."

Rodney turned, puzzled by the Starman's words. "Oh, you mean the Ring – yes, good idea, though there's really no need." 

______

The repair proved to be more difficult than even Rodney had expected, and he was unsure of how much time had passed. Clearly, he either needed to reroute power away from the damaged crystal or repair the crystal itself. So far, his tentative stabs at rerouting had been useless, winning him more of the tight-lipped looks from the Starman than he would have liked. It wasn't that he couldn't do the repair – he could, but then what?

They'd leave. They all did. The few people he'd seen – like the Genii – had come through the Ring in search of something past the outlands and he was usually glad to see them leave again, but the others… the ones who came because they were lost or were in need of help, they never stayed. Rodney glanced behind him out the rear of the 'jumper. Thanks to the waxing triple moons, the twilight phase lasted some time before the space around them would be guttered in darkness. They had sufficient light to make it back to the village but only for a few more hours. Standing there debating what to do, his stomach growled in protest of going on any longer without food.

______

Back in Rodney's office, the Starman produced a pack filled with "MREs" and declared dinner was on them. It was the least they could do, the Starman had said, and Rodney was thankful – it saved him the quandary of throwing together enough food for his guests, himself, and Fluffy. As his contribution to the meal, Rodney offered to fresh brew some of the Maté beverage. The Tracker sniffed the ashy, ground up roots and pulled a face. 

"Or I have ale," Rodney said, pulling up a few more chairs. "It's my own process, and if you'll permit me a spot of pride, I don't mind saying it's quite good." Not waiting for their answer, he went to fetch four bottles from the storeroom.

"Yap."

"Oh, forgive me, I should have made the introductions," he said to the dog as he gathered up the thick brown bottles.

"Yap, yap…"

"What do you mean? They need me – I'm repairing their ship."

"Yap!"

"Yes, I'm fully aware of that, but do you mind letting me enjoy their company while they're here?"

"Yap, yap."

"I'm touched by your concern," he said, holding the door for the dog.

______

"Oh, these are very good." Rodney downed the last of his meatloaf and potatoes and washed it down with a swallow of ale. "It's been some time since I've had cooking other than my own."

The Starman made a face – something between a grimace and a grin – and handed over another package. "Not sure I'd call this cooking," he said.

"Unfortunately, my genius with planning doesn't extend to the kitchen," he replied, ripping into the chicken and dumplings. "But being the Chief Planner has its advantages. You may have noticed a few of my plans as we entered the village." 

"I'd say you're the only planner," the Tracker allowed. He looked to the Starman and shook his head.

"It's an important job," Rodney crowed from his lofty perch at the draft table. "I'm responsible for all the plans… whatever is needed."

The Tracker took a long drink of his ale, and then said, "Looks like you make all your plans for nobody."

"We've been no stranger to cullings here. Those who remained finally decided – for their safety – to move on." That was essentially true; there weren't enough who actually left because of Rodney's arrogance to count as a legitimate reason, or at least not a reason these good folks needed to know.

The Starman declined Rodney's offer of another ale, though conceded it was very good. Favored in the glow of the lamp hanging from the main beam, he leaned back in his chair and maneuvered the toothpick from one side of this mouth to the other, his eyes on Rodney. 

"Now that you've eaten, you should be ready to finish that repair and then we'll be on our way."

Rodney put down his fork. "No – I – to be truthful, the repair is more involved and – why don't we all get a night's sleep? I could finish up first thing…"

The Starman appeared none too happy at the suggestion. He stood up abruptly and walked outside, the Tracker following on his heels.

"Where's he going?" Rodney asked; the crushing feeling of having affronted the Starman sat like a dam in his chest. "Did I say something wrong?"

"We are overdue," replied the woman. She smiled, perhaps to reassure him, but he felt caught by her eyes. They held a kindness that Rodney suddenly felt didn't belong to him. "Our people will want to know that we are okay," she continued, placing an odd emphasis on the final word.

Envious, Rodney realized of course, they had somewhere else to go – they would be missed. He thought for a split second about asking to go with them. Somehow, he thought the lovely Warrior Princess would understand, but he changed his mind just as quickly.

"They may want to send a rescue jumper –"

"You have more than one?" 

She smiled again, and then stood to gather up their items from the meal. The Tracker came back inside and announced he would be taking the first watch.

"There's no need for that," Rodney said. "Not only are we the only people here, I have a simple alarm at the Ring."

"Alarm?" the Starman asked from the door.

Rodney explained it was a simple design but effective. "It's how I knew you were here – why I went out to meet you. I thought it might be a traveler in need and I was right."

The Starman glanced at the Tracker, who nodded, and then he spoke to the woman. "Teyla, you take second. I'll finish up."

The Warrior Princes acknowledged the order. The Starman called her Teyla… it seemed to fit, but Rodney had absolutely no idea why he thought so. He opened his mouth to protest again, but the Starman cut him off.

"You said it yourself, McKay… Genii, travelers… Let's just say I don't like surprises."

"Fine. Well, there's an inn only a few doors away – I try to keep up a couple of rooms for just such an occasion."

"And that would be your hospitality plan."

Rodney watched the Starman turn and walk back outside. The stares from the other were heavy and awkward somehow. Perhaps the Starman had made a joke and Rodney had failed to get the punch line. The Tracker smiled at him – sort of – and clapped him on the shoulder, and Rodney followed them out to the street.

______

 

_Nowhere Man, don't worry,  
Take your time, don't hurry_

Even though he kept the rooms clean, the smell of disuse followed them like a specter down the dark hallway. While his own room was on the floor above, he most often slept in the small attic room above his office – a holdover from the times when he and the other planners worked until their only choice was to sleep where they fell, if they were allowed to sleep at all.

Like some self-imposed syndic, Rodney produced a heavy ring of keys. He opened the door to the first room and motioned for the woman to enter. Keeping a respectable distance, he showed her the facilities and assured her that he'd be just upstairs if she needed anything. 

She walked him back to the doorway, thanked him, and said her good nights. That left him with the Starman. He crossed the hall and fitted another key into the latch as the Starman watched. Pushing the door open, he handed over the spare lamp.

"I'm afraid you'll have to use the – uhm – end of the hall," Rodney said, pointing over his shoulder. Feeling the need to say something else, he suggested the Starman might want to open the window.

"I'll be fine."

The rooms were simple, just the necessities passing travelers needed. He watched the Starman remove his vest and drape it across the bed. The Starman had such a strong presence and Rodney knew he was staring, but he couldn’t seem to look away or leave the room. 

"You like it here? Being all alone?"

"I used to work with other planners – planners who sometimes had ideas different from my own." It was a rather ineffectual answer to what Rodney felt was a much heavier question and he probably should have left it there. "My plans have always been different, more advanced, if you will. As to whether I like this better…"

"Some people just don't work well with others – it happens," the Starman said. "I used to work in a similar situation, kept to myself, did what I was told – mostly. But I got to fly airships – lots of them. I loved it."

The lines around the Starman's eyes proved there'd been a lot in his life he hadn't loved, but that wasn't for Rodney to ask. 

"Impressive…" the Starman continued. "…the way you tackled the problem with the 'jumper – new technology and all. Would that have anything to do with those projections you mentioned?"

Rodney had never told anyone else about the room, not after Eldon and the accident. He wasn't sure he should tell the Starman now, but somehow it felt right. Perhaps the Starman wouldn't judge him like the rest. After all, he'd only been trying to access the weapons as the Council had requested. But the second accident sealed his fate. That's when the space over his office had become a concession as well as a compromise.

He wanted to tell the Starman of how the townspeople had treated him afterward, but none of it mattered anymore. Not to mention the Starman's face had lost that irritated look; he appeared more open and friendly, and Rodney didn't want to ruin this evening by having the Starman prove him wrong.

Instead, he pointed to the east of them. "Just over the ridge…" he said quietly, as if it were a secret bound by the hollows of his heart. "…and before you reach the skirt of the outlands, there's a buried city."

At first, Rodney feared the Starman would scoff or say he was crazy, but his expression didn't change. He only took a step closer, arm outstretched to grasp Rodney's shoulder. "City?"

"The technology is Ancient – which really shouldn't come as a big surprise here in Pegasus. I have no idea how big it is – the city, that is. Even with Eldon, we never got around to fully cataloging all the resources and scope of it."

"Eldon?"

"One of my assistants." Rodney swallowed down the metallic taste in his mouth. "He was loyal to me and the only one I felt never tried to stab me in the back, if you know what I mean." 

After the accident, he'd dismissed his remaining assistants, an act the other planners and the villagers had accepted as a gesture of conciliation. Rodney spent more and more time in the small room above his office, and his interaction with the townsfolk began to dwindle.

"Once I'd found the room that housed the projections," Rodney continued, "I took Eldon into my confidence. We explored, experimented with some of the technology and the designs – even tried to recreate a few for the village. Granted, most of the people thought I was the genius, but…" His words trailed off with a wave of his hand as he looked up at the Starman. "It's all there, schematics for the city's systems, those 'jumper ships, crystals, weapons."

He'd personally seen to it that many of the other chambers had been sealed off, and sometimes, when he was given to think on it, he still felt the smothering guilt. It was a feeling he wanted to run from – run as far and as fast as he could, as if someday he might actually find his way out from under it. 

For a moment, Rodney feared he might have said that out loud. He looked away, the keys jangling in his hand as he shifted from one foot to the other.

The Starman took his elbow lightly and sat him down on the bed. "So, tell me about these outlands." 

Rodney was glad for the change of subject. "Oh, they go on for miles – nothing but sand scorched by the sun."

"Do you know what's beyond them?"

"I – the ones who set out to cross it never – I have no idea whether they made it or…" For all he knew, he'd sent them to their deaths. And how fitting a reality would that be? 

"The spire… you can see that plainly from anywhere," The Starman mused, scratching his head. "None of the villagers ever investigated except you?"

Rodney stared at a point on the opposite wall, trying to parse the question. Of course, people knew, but everyone had thought of it as a ruin, or as some sacred shrine of the Ancients, even the Council. They'd enacted laws forbidding access – one of the reasons they had been so hard on Rodney after the accident. All of a sudden, he felt he'd said too much, his head began to pound and…

"Why do you want to know?" he asked. These people could be here on a ruse, he told himself. Those damn clever Genii – they'd want to know all about the Ancient city and the location of those powerful weapons. "I shouldn't have said anything – now you'll send people here, attract attention." Panic and agitation pushed through his veins.

"But with our ships, we could help you explore," the Starman said. "We can cover a great distance, get you past the outlands."

"But you can't – it's dangerous unless you know what you're doing, what you're looking for."

"That's why we'd take you with us."

Gazing into the Starman's eyes, he couldn't believe these people were anything but what they said, nor did he believe they were the least bit afraid of danger, but… "If the Wraith, the Genii – if they knew –" Rodney stood up. He needed to leave before he gave away anything else. "But I have plans for that so it really…" In his haste to get to the door, Rodney's feet caught him up, making him stumble.

The Starman was there to catch him, fingers pressing in much too tightly on Rodney's too warm skin. The look on the Starman's face had changed to something else now. Without pretense, his features seemed raw, emotion beginning to bleed around the edges, a look that weighed on Rodney like so much of that burnt-red shifting sand. 

"You're a hero, aren't you?" Rodney asked, pulling back a little from the Starman's grasp. "I can tell – I've known heroes before. I've made plans for them."

Color stained the Starman's cheeks. He let go of Rodney and fumbled with his collar. "Listen, McKay, why don't you come with us tomorrow?"

Rodney's heart leapt but the fire quelled immediately; he didn't go beyond the Ring. "No, I – I have to stay in case my plans are needed. Did I mention I have an excellent plan for defeating the Wraith? Someday, someone will want to use that plan, I'm sure of it."

"War plans?" The Starman cocked an eyebrow. "You don't seem very hawkish to me."

"As a planner, you sometimes have to set aside your personal politics – it's the plan that's important. And there's that whole staying alive thing." Rodney edged closer to the door and the Starman followed.

"Sometimes, people are more important." The Starman paused and then smiled. "And we come from a place where –" 

"Oh yes, I know," Rodney cut in. "They all come from somewhere… and they all leave again. You'll leave," he added after too much silence, fidgeting at the Starman's attention.

"All I'm saying is what good are your plans if they're for no one?"

"Do you think people haven't tried to lure me away? What would happen to people like you if I allowed myself to…? No. Thank you, but someone may need me."

"I ne –" The Starman stopped and blew out his breath in a resolute huff.

Along with the furrowed brows and that tight-lipped look, he stood there with hands on hips, making Rodney feel once again as if he'd said something untoward, and then Rodney thought of why he even cared… What was this overwhelming desire to win the Starman's approval?

"Can I do anything else for you?" he asked, reaching for the knob.

"You can fix my jumper," the Starman replied evenly. He turned and went to open the window, his voice changed – a dull flint. "We've been on a search and rescue mission and could really use the rest, but if you can't fix it in the morning, you'll have a nice lawn ornament to remember us by."

______

The gruff voice crackled through the comm, loud enough, it seemed, to be heard out in the street. "Sheppard… anything?" 

John Sheppard worked his jaw and stared at the heavy, wooden door of his room at the inn. He lifted his hand slowly to his ear and replied, "Tell Colonel Carter we'll try again tomorrow."

______

Owing to a fitful night, Rodney was up early. He'd already prepared two cups of the granulated coffee crystals his guests had presented him with after dinner. They'd had it with chocolate cake. Now, having pored over a few of the copied diagrams, and having mapped out several scenarios and configurations to no avail, he gave a well-resigned sigh, which caused Fluffy to stop nosing at his fur and look up.

Rodney padded barefoot to a small drawer in his map cabinet and pulled out what he needed. Yes, he told himself, it was that easy. 

"Yap."

"Don't you start… what ego? So I'd rather be stingy with the crystals, what's it to you?" He snorted with derision – mainly to himself – he didn't even know why he'd been saving them. If he'd simply replaced the crystal the night before, the Starman wouldn't have gotten angry with him and Rodney might be having his breakfast in a new City.

"Yap!"

"Yes, they're all very nice. But the Starman – there's something about him. And yes, that's why I'm taking the easy way, it will make him happy, and –"

"Yap, yap!"

Rodney turned and glared. "Shut up. I'm well aware they'll leave; thank you for the reminder, though."

______

The Starman had the watch when Rodney arrived back at the inn with the crystal. He explained he didn't want to detain them any further but that he hoped they'd share breakfast with him before they left. He had just made a batch of Elpam, a cured syrup that was delicious on griddlecakes, the one thing Rodney admitted to be good at cooking. The Starman spoke into a gadget attached to his vest, telling someone he was accompanying Rodney to the 'jumper for the repair.

Of course, replacing the crystal took no time at all, and which Rodney explained had been a lucky break. Afterward, the Starman insisted that they "take a spin around."

Rodney had seen the simulations of flight, but he was unprepared for his spin in the 'jumper. The Starman seemed to have complete control; he talked of how it felt to fly, but Rodney wasn't listening. He was busy watching the instruments and the HUD and the way the trees and the sky rushed at him as they left the ground. Within moments, they were out over the town and on their way across the outlands. The vastness frightened him – that burnt, almost undulating rusty carpet laid out before them, barren and alone. How could anyone have crossed them?

"Wanna see something really cool?"

He nodded at the Starman's question and held his breath as their trajectory took them past the sun-bleached blue sky, through a veil where the entire color spectrum vibrated around them for a split second, and then into the calm blackness of space. Through it all, Rodney felt as if he were sitting in a chair at the inn merely watching it all pass before him.

With the silence, Rodney relaxed and let the air fully fill his lungs. Breathing felt like a drug, opening his mind into an acceptance of what his eyes were showing him. He seemed to have left his fear back on the ground, as if being among the stars wasn't novel to him at all.

When he tuned back in, they were nearing home again. The Starman was talking about space 'gates as he set the 'jumper down closer to the village.

Over griddlecakes, Elpam, and more of that delicious coffee from the MRE packs, Rodney took the time to expatiate on the repair, telling how he'd been able to re-route the power, and ending with a warning that, while it should be sufficient to get them back home, they should have the 'jumper looked at. It all sounded very impressive and these people didn't need to know any different. If they wanted to leave with the impression that he was a genius with mad, ancient flying machine repair skills, who was he to say otherwise?

And leave they did. They all stood in the small clearing just outside the entrance to the village and said their goodbyes. The Tracker practically lifted Rodney off his feet in a manly embrace, his eyes sparkling with thanks as he pocketed several tins of the Elpam syrup. Teyla introduced him to a farewell custom of touching foreheads, which was curious but strangely familiar, and left Rodney swallowing down a lump in his throat as he repeated her name before they parted.

Then it was the Starman's turn to say goodbye. Teyla pulled something from her vest; it came away with a loud _thwaaaack_ and she handed it to Rodney.

"Call it a parting gift," the Starman said.

"But what is it?" Rodney asked, eyeing the small black square.

"Shouldn't be too hard for you to figure out." Offering one last smile, one that showed mostly in his eyes, the Starman disappeared into the jumper.

"Thanks," Rodney said, immediately thinking he couldn't have come up with a more lame response. 

"Are you sure you do not want to come with us," Teyla asked. "I am sure the Colonel mentioned that you would be welcome. There would be many uses for a man of your talents."

The answer wasn't about what he did or did not want, but belaboring the issue would get him nowhere. "No, I should stay… and you are all – please come back anytime."

______

_Nowhere Man, can you see me at all?_

 

The wormhole ride didn't allow much time for emotional decompression, at least no more than John Sheppard ever took for himself. Colonel Carter was waiting for them on the other side of the gate just as John knew she would. The time it took to taxi the jumper up to the bay was time enough to secure his poker face.

He'd counted on at least being able to get to her office before the examination. The look on her face was the same jumble of frustration and ineffectiveness they'd all worn for days. He needed a hot shower and a day off. What he got was another conversation that led nowhere.

"Well?" Carter asked as they exited the jumper.

Sheppard hung back and made a show of stowing gear in the back.

"He did fine with the 'jumper," Ronon said, and John thought that was a fair if maybe understated summary. He was sure Rodney had been suspicious of the 'damage.' By the time Sheppard looked up, Ronon and Teyla were heading to the ready room. He shouldered his pack and walked down the ramp.

"And you, Colonel?"

"He thinks I'm some kind of god damn hero," Sheppard said, brushing past. 

She reached out to stop him. "The planet is safe, John. Your men are –"

"I know that." He eyed their new expedition commander. "You think I'd agree to any of this if I thought McKay was in danger? He seems to know Teyla, he recognizes Ronon's necklace, but he still won't shake my hand!"

"So this new requisition of yours is…"

"Insurance," he grumbled, pulling away to join his teammates.

______

As best he could, Rodney tried to fill the next few days with happy thoughts and activity. Happy thoughts like the travelers taking him up on his offer to return, and busy work that would keep his mind occupied. But each time he fell back into his routine or became engrossed in reviewing old plans, other thoughts would take over. Those thoughts drove him into his office to hide or obsessively reorganize his inventory, or to wallow in his own self-pity: sharing a meal with the travelers, the curious way in which the Starman held him in thrall, or Rodney's own juvenile, paranoid reactions to their offers to take him with them.

Now he knew where that was. The Starman had been right; the device they'd left with him hadn't been hard to operate. It contained pictures, data, and technical details. At-lan-tis… Rodney intoned the name inside his head. He'd read of the great city in the projection room - similar to his buried city, it was much larger, and the Starman assured him he could explore all he wanted. 

He even got up the nerve to walk to the ring. He poked around until he'd retrieved the last address entered and had the first three symbols lit before aborting. Afterward, he stood and stared at the ring until the sky began to dip low, thinking that his completely ridiculous justifications for remaining were completely ridiculous. Why was he waiting? They wouldn't come back; there was no need. 

His heart felt as low as the sun in the sky as he made the trek back to town. He even took the long way – to give him something to do or to punish himself, he wasn't entirely certain. It had been wonderful getting to work on the ship he had seen so many times in the projections. All that he'd learned from the phantom teachers had served him well and Rodney felt the Starman had been impressed. Perhaps even more impressed than he let on.

Why else would he have asked Rodney to accompany them? The one called Teyla told him they had more of the ships and the Starman seemed to be quite fond of flying. He'd been especially interested in McKay's plans for a flying machine once Rodney had told him the plans were based on actual flight, as in man, sky, wings, air current. Deep down, Rodney knew the plans held no real practical application, but that seemed not to matter to the Starman. It gave Rodney a warm feeling of pride the way the other man's eyes had shone and the way his lips had curved as he'd traced over the intricate designs on the parchment.

Back in his office, he stared at the plans piled on his table, then looked around at the room that was much as it had been that night. In his pathetic little world, nothing had changed – and everything had changed. 

With a rage building inside him, he lashed out at the plans, sweeping them into a heap on the floor, where Fluffy skittered out of the way and where the lantern light cast shadows over them. It had been months since he'd opened the dark green bottle at the back of the cupboard, but tonight he just wanted to crawl into it. Soon he'd forget about what might lie beyond the Ring, forget the desire that swelled his heart to bursting to find out what that was, and most of all, forget the depth of the Starman's eyes – like the holes along the outlands and just as mysterious.

Getting up slowly, he retrieved the bottle and a small glass. Why didn't he go beyond the Ring? With a mind like his, what kept him bound to a place where no one had wanted him? Pride, pettiness, spite… what hold did this place have? The Ancient city, he thought. She wanted him; he was always welcome there. He had found a way to awaken her from years of slumber. But what of the Starman's city? He stared across his desk at the gift they'd given him; a siren call fallen on deaf ears. Fluffy whimpered as bottle hit glass once again.

He'd survive; he always did. After all, he was brilliant, his plans were good plans, people could benefit from them and… Who was he kidding? No one was going to come here seeking solutions to their problems or for the kind of help he could give. The Starman had only come by chance – a port in a storm. 

"I won't even cross the outlands," Rodney declared to his empty glass. "And, yes, I may have lied about how treacherous they are. What difference does it make now? They're gone – not like he's going to come back and try to prove me wrong."

"Yap."

Rodney turned toward the sound. "Afraid? You think it takes a wimp to stay here day after day, diligently manning his post?"

"Yap, yap!"

"Yes, I did have a chance to work with the Genii, back when they were still playing nice, and I could have gone with those travelers, but…"

"Yap?"

"What comfort zone? Just where is all this metaphysical crap coming from anyway?"

Fluffy put his head down on his paws.

"That's what I thought. But you're right about one thing… these people were different. Not that it matters."

"Yap, yap, yap!?"

"Oh, bing tiddle tiddle bong!" Rodney cried reaching for the bottle, not even bothering with his glass. "See this? This is me not listening."

______

From: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
To: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
CC: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
Time: Friday – 19:31:42  
Subject: Answers?  
Attachment: AAR:S1-109.doc

The results of Dr. Zelenka's testing on MS5-240 reveal the existence of a race of sentient beings very similar to those found on M5S-224. I believe you're familiar with the attached report. This seems a very promising lead and really all we have at the moment.

\--previous content deleted--

__

From: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
To: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
CC: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
Time: Friday – 19:33:33  
Subject: Answers?

Haven't we taken enough crap from non-corporeal life forms? You can't even blow them up.

__

From: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
To: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
CC: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
Time: Friday – 19:34:12  
Subject: Answers?

_You can't even blow them up._

Actually, Colonel, we are investigating a way to do just that – vaporization rather than explosion, but we hope the end result to be the same.

__

From: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
To: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
CC: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
Time: Friday – 19:35:00  
Subject: Answers?

You'd just vaporize an entire life form?

__

From: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
To: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
CC: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
Time: Friday – 19:36:15  
Subject: Answers?

_You'd just vaporize an entire life form?_

A potentially harmful life form. As I say, we are exploring the most effective way to accomplish this. We believe the potential gain from the mineral deposits M5S-240 has to offer is worth the effort.

__

From: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
To: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
CC: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
Time: Friday – 19:36:47  
Subject: Answers?

Kidding, doc.

__

From: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
To: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
CC: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
Time: Friday – 19:39:18  
Subject: Answers?

More to the point, gentlemen… Radek has an interesting theory that these beings could be an elder version of the same life forms found on M5S-224. He believes the phenomena experienced by Rodney and the other expedition members, as well as the symptoms we're seeing, could be some form of protective device or the residual after-effects of the beings' own mental processes. 

__

From: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
To: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
CC: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
Time: Friday – 19:43:20  
Subject: Answers?

So, the mist people's version of 'you kids get off my lawn'?

__

From: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
To: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
CC: Col. Samantha Carter [  
Time: Friday – 19:45:12  
Subject: Answers?

_So, the mist people's version of 'you kids get off my lawn'?_

Quite a simplified interpretation, but accurate. I will need more time to study the data, but this theory may account for the lingering nature of the symptoms in some of the team members. For example, Dr. Gabriel still thinks she's on Earth with a deadline for completing her thesis; however, there seems to be no immediate physical harm. 

__

From: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
To: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
CC: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
Time: Friday – 19:50:03  
Subject: Answers?

John, Dr. Rosà's examinations have been very thorough. It is her opinion the condition – especially in Rodney's case – is similar to anterograde amnesia, where one loses the ability to form and retain new memories. While most of the teams' long-term memory remains intact, that seems to have been affected as well by whatever mental processes were supplanted by the mist beings. She feels, along with Dr. Zelenka, that removal from the source and intensive memory therapy have been the most helpful treatment. You said yourself; the plan with Rodney seems to be working.

__

From: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
To: Dr. Radek Zelenka [rzelenka@atl.sci.net]  
CC: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
Time: Friday – 19:51:57  
Subject: Answers?

It's been 8 days. It ain't working fast enough.

______

_Leave it all till somebody else  
lends you a hand!_

When the next morning found Rodney stretched out on the floor, his face pasted to the plans for an elaborate central fountain and his back screaming a litany of protests, he dragged himself awake, frightening Fluffy with the noises he made getting to his feet. God, he disgusted even himself sometimes. His first thought – after _please, god, let there be some of that coffee left_ – as he looked out over the mess was that he had a decision to make. 

He thought of his time spent with the travelers, of the Tracker's story about a homeworld that no longer existed and how he'd been abused by the Wraith to the point of losing everything but his will to be free. He'd thrown in his lot with the Starman, so had the woman and her people. And then there was the Starman himself. Rodney had the feeling of something unfinished between the two of them. It was possible, even, that they might have become friends.

Rejuvenated by a spirited row with Fluffy and the last of the coffee (he'd resisted the temptation to lick the insides of the small packets) Rodney stuffed only the best of his plans, policies, and ideas inside leather bags and long cylindrical tubes and slung them over his shoulder. Rifling through one of the cupboards, he produced a smaller bag into which he stuffed his gift and Fluffy.

As he made his way along the shortcut, he turned once to look back. He could see the village as it once was, teeming with life and laughter and business, could hear the squeak of his door as people came to him, needing help. 

Lock, stock, and map cases, Rodney now stood before the Ring with purpose in his heart. From his pocket, he took a tattered portion of a much-revised plan on which he'd scribbled the Starman's address. He placed his hand on the first symbol and pressed. Another followed, then another before he wavered over the next. A city of people… plans to make for someone… talents that would be appreciated. Fluffy yapped nervously. More people like the Tracker and the Warrior Princess and… 

Before he could press the next glyph, the Ring exploded in a surge of energy. Not sure if the Ring would spit out a lost soul in need or the Wraith, Rodney cradled the bag holding Fluffy and crouched behind the dialing device.

But only a single man came through the shimmering blue. When he saw Rodney, his face split into a huge smile. 

Shedding doubts and fear in one fell swoop, Rodney stood up. "What are you doing here? Where's your ship? Are you in trouble again?"

"I came to talk to you, but it looks like I'm too late. Looks like you've decided to go somewhere after all."

"I was – No, well, I was just –"

"Good! I came back to persuade you – some people say I'm good at that." He looked at the ground and licked his lips before continuing. "We have lots of people to plan for, lots of stuff to repair. Hell, we've got an entire city that needs constant attention. You could have your own lab, er, office… underlings…"

They both looked around, as Rodney tried to determine the direction of the noise that had interrupted the Starman.

"That's – that's an alarm!"

"Can't be for the 'gate – we're standing right here."

"No," Rodney replied, looking back. "It's the city. But how – I haven't…"

The Starman scratched at his chin, apparently unconcerned at the possibility of being attacked by the Genii or Wraith or even someone come from the other side of the outlands. "That could be the detail I sent to check things out," he drawled, then his eyes widened. "What did you do, booby trap that old ruin?"

"What? Wait a minute – how did they get through without me knowing?"

"Look, it wasn't as if I didn't believe you about the city, McKay, it's just that I felt we –"

"Detail? Do you mean people? You sent – How many people?" Rodney felt certain his heart hammering away in his chest was more than apparent in his tone.

"A few marines – soldiers – and Teyla and Ronon. Why, what –"

Oh god, was he talking about the Tracker and the Warrior Princess?

A device attached to the Starman's vest began to crackle with static and then with the sound of another anxious voice. All Rodney could make out were the words 'self-destruct' and 'time.'

"Sit tight, Major. See you in five."

Rodney hurriedly shucked out of the map cases and bags wrapped around him. "Who are you talking to – what did he mean self-destruct? That's not possible."

The Starman didn't answer; he was busy shouting into another device attached to his ear. "…Sheppard – requesting backup jumper and team ASAP and don't spare the horses."

"We have to go now," Rodney said, his brain finally clicking into gear as to what was happening. He turned away but the Starman grabbed him by the arm, halting his progress. "Rodney?"

The name and tone of voice stopped him cold but only for a second before he shook it off. The Starman's people were in danger and he had put them there. His eyes locked with the Starman's. "Well, I couldn't leave all that knowledge here for just anyone to stumble over," he declared, trying to pull free of the other man's grasp.

"Whoa, wait… a jumper'll be here in two shakes. What did you mean? What's not possible?"

Rodney tossed the last of his plans to the ground and had the awful sinking feeling he'd been here before.

______

"I can't believe you set a self-destruct for a ruin," the Starman yelled as they ran from the jumper. "We checked it out!"

"Technically, I didn't." Rodney went straight for the hidden entrance he and Eldon had discovered to the tower. "And what are you talking about, a ruin? This city is alive."

"Son of a bitch!" Lights winking on as he led the way to the control room were old hat to Rodney, but the Starman seemed impressed. 

As they moved down the narrow hallway, Rodney noticed that the design of the wall panels were very similar to what he'd seen of the Atlantis interior. He was also aware of a soft hum, as if the city were breathing. He stopped and turned around, shielding his eyes from the light atop the Starman's weapon.

"For the record, I never actually completed my solution – I failed to secure any fissionable material – anything really – to serve as a proper detonation device."

"Now there's a choice bit of intel… You were going to build a nuke?"

"I was going to protect the city's secrets, and you make building a bomb sound like a big deal – I could show you dozens of plans…"

"Save it. Major Lorne says self-destruct, so the city has certainly completed her plan. And I can tell you right now, McKay, _that_ is a big fucking deal."

Rodney could hear the unmistakable cadence of agitated voices in the distance as the hallway widened, spilling them out into the control room. The main console was already up and that made Rodney groan inwardly. More men dressed like the Starman stood talking with a tall, hapless looking man – though it might have been more truthful to say the soldiers were talking 'at' the man.

"Granted," Rodney conceded, trying to finish his thought. He made straight for the console as a few of the men finally noticed their presence. "But my point was… just having your men here shouldn't have activated any destructive system." 

"Well, apparently, someone got a little trigger-happy and touched something they weren't supposed to."

He whipped his head around and looked up at the Starman. "What kind of morons do you have working for you who can find something even I don't know about and break it? You can't just come in here and touch things willy-nilly!"

The Starman's eyes glinted a little when he replied, "Actually, I think it was one of the… planners."

"Oh, well…" Rodney ignored the others as they began to crowd around and turned his attention back to the console. "What the hell is this?" he demanded rhetorically, seeing that another device was rigged to the main array. He put his hands to the keyboard without thinking and squinted at the bright blue display. The others mumbled in the background as he tried a few preliminary keystrokes but nothing he entered seemed to satisfy the protocol. "What the hell did you do?" he asked the hapless looking planner – he thought someone had called him Hopewell.

"I might ask you the same, Dr. Mc –"

"Something wrong, here?" The Starman stepped in and shunted Hopeless off to the side. "Maybe we should just back off and let the _Chief Planner_ have some elbow room." 

"That was the only way to access the system," Hopewell whined. "I've tried, but I've got nothing."

The display suddenly changed and it was like turning a page. Rodney didn't need anyone to run interference for him. He needed the damn sirens to stop blaring and the voices inside his head to go away. As he tried to keep his concentration on the screen, a thousand things conspired to break him, not the least of which was his fear of failing. The past few days had him doubting so many things. 

"For Christ's sake, McKay, tell me you can shut this thing down!" 

"Do not yell at me! I'm thinking. I only fashioned a rudimentary device… this isn't it. I don't know what this is. My plan wasn't complete – I…"

"The city's plan, remember?" the Starman said. "This will do the same thing, only it's gonna take half the planet with it, and by my count, we've got about seven minutes – and I'm just saying, the chances of you hunting and pecking your way to the solution are about a billion to one."

"Colonel, please…" Rodney swung around in his chair. "Never tell me the odds!" They stared at one another, two, three seconds, eyes fixed. Rodney's head hurt; it had begun to pound in time with the alarm and the flashing lights. His heart racing, he looked over at Hopeless. "What did you do?" he asked again. "It's not accepting any of the overrides."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. I tried to delete a patch code set to perform this one function, but there are overrides to the overrides –" 

"Wait a minute," the Starman interrupted. "You know how to read this stuff?"

"Sort of," Hopewell replied. "It's like a lot of the simulation code we deal with on Atl –"

"Can you fix it?" That sounded like the Tracker's voice, he thought.

"Nobody is touching anything!" Rodney boomed.

"He's right, Colonel, I can't do anything with it. The best I can tell he's rigged a booby-trap into the weapons system."

"But I didn't – the way it was supposed to go – I couldn't get the fissionable material..." He swung around to face the other man. "Oh, but what you're saying is it doesn't matter. What you're saying is the city's weapons will–"

"Holy shit, you were going to MacGyver a bomb?" Hopewell asked. "That's insane. What were you –"

"Careful, doc. You're looking at a guy who built his first one at age twelve. If anyone can diffuse this situation, it's _Rodney_."

The vein at Rodney's temple fluttered, making his left eye twitch. "I appreciate that, really," he said to the Starman. "But didn't you hear him… we're going to die and take half the planet with us!" 

He felt the pressure inside his head shift as he watched the Starman's face fade in front of him, then reappear as if in another time and place. In the quivering pit of his stomach, Rodney knew he'd been here before, in this very position or something like it. The eyes staring back at him were eyes he knew. The look wasn't panic or fear, it was confidence, and that's what finally broke him. Rodney swallowed hard and tried for a full breath. "Eldon …"

The Starman closed the distance between them, ducking a piece of loose cable in the process. "Look, we'll take care of it, okay?" he said, his voice bending over the edge of torment. "Just shut her down."

Rodney slowly swiveled back in his chair. He watched the numerals tick down as the lights on the display taunted him. Why the hell was he thinking of the accident? What possible good was it to remember how he'd left Eldon to some mundane task, how he'd ignored the warnings. Maybe so he would realize that it was the same polarizing inexactitude that kept him tied to this place. Rodney couldn't afford to ignore anything this time, but was it already too late? 

A cacophony of numbers and symbols twined through his brain seeking desperately to fit into the right sequence. He heard more shuffling and low murmuring behind him. "My plan was only to – I can't – I don't know what to do."

"Sure you do." The Starman placed his hands on Rodney's shoulders. "Think."

Like a conduit, he seemed to draw on the Starman's strength and the soft rumble of his voice. The surge was fierce resolve stealing down Rodney's spine.

His fingers began to move. Faltering at first, but after a moment, even he couldn't keep up with them, code sequences slotting into place without effort until the shutdown screen was displayed.

"… could have gotten you there five minutes ago, if you'd just…" Hopeless didn't get to finish his twaddle. Rodney thought the Tracker had stepped between them. It was all so much fly buzzing now anyway as he eyed the flashing red. Something was different. He was different. One by one, the screens changed, bending to his commands. Later, when they were all either dead or sitting around drinking and laughing about this – god, he could use a good laugh – he'd be sure to try and figure out just how he knew all this information. 

"There! You're there, McKay – the last code. One minute and counting!" The Starman began shouting into the small speaker, telling his people to clear the area.

Rodney could sense movement just beyond him and the one called Lorne was arguing with the Starman. Somehow, he didn't feel a part of any of it. Somehow, this felt like a reckoning for something else, something lurking on the edge of his mental grasp. He stared at the screen, his mind a blank. The smell of fear was high as the skirr of his heart threatened to rupture his last thin veil of composure.

"One, six, four, three, one, eight, seven, nine –"

"What? What is that?" Rodney demanded.

"Don't argue – type. Now, dammit! One, nine, six, eight…"

Rodney held his breath and obeyed the Starman. Even if by some miracle this saved them and the planet, it would be the same as before; he was doomed to stay in this place. He'd almost gotten the Starman's people killed. There wasn't a plan in his inventory for making this right.

"… four, two. That's it." 

The firm grip on his shoulder – knowing the Starman was still there – made the next breath easier. And the next. He finally opened his eyes at the impotent "ping" from the console, where the words "abort successful" flashed in a less urgent hue before dissolving into a single, flat line. The maelstrom inside his head had quieted, too, but the adrenaline rush would likely keep him up for days. 

 

_Nowhere Man please listen,  
You don't know what you're missing_

Standing there facing the shimmering Ring, it was déjà vu all over again. Major Lorne had called the Starman Sheppard as he'd left in one of the jumpers. Oddly, like Teyla and Ronon, the name seemed to fit the man in a way that made anything else sound like a sour note.

Scattered there on the ground were Rodney's belongings, just as he'd left them. It seemed like days ago that he'd packed in preparation to leave this place for good. He eyed the collection – there were no books, no games, no music or pictures, just ideas, dreams, and what-ifs etched onto paper. Like the Tracker said, plans for no one. Was this the sum of him, he wondered. Were they his measure? Would he always be judged by the accident and now this? One of the bags lying in the shade of the dialing device moved. Rodney grinned. At least he still had Fluffy.

"So," Sheppard said. "How about we try this again?" 

Rodney blinked up at him. On the threshold of death, that voice had been rocklike and unwavering; now it held a trace of reserve. Only, Rodney couldn't have heard correctly; he couldn't even come up with a reply.

"I can't promise it'll be all lollipops and rainbows…" Sheppard grinned and jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. "In fact, some days are a lot like that. But I can promise an unlimited supply of coffee – the real thing, not that instant stuff in the packets."

"You mean come with you? To Atlantis? Won't you have to clear it with your people first? Tell them about this… debacle?" Rodney asked. "And the rest?" He hoisted the last of the map cases over his shoulder. It didn't matter that he knew he would be an asset. Sheppard's people didn't know him; he'd have to prove himself. 

"Not exactly." Sheppard ran a finger alongside the bridge of his nose. "It wouldn't be the first after-action report I've finessed," he said easily.

It was too easy, and nothing good came easily; at least that's how Rodney saw it. He opened his mouth to apologize and to make his excuses, and then Sheppard extended his hand. Rodney stared at it a moment, then decided the gesture wasn't one of goodbye or even pity, but that he meant for Rodney to take it.

The sun was high over the trees and the smell of the warming grasses tickled his nose. If he stayed here, he wouldn't have to prove anything, just sit around with his plans and his birds and his ale and wait for someone to find their way through the Ring.

The road leading back to the village called to him, but it was nothing compared to the lure in this Starman's eyes. Rodney swallowed his excuses and looked down at the outstretched hand again. Suddenly, nothing seemed more right, or more important, including a buried city or any of the plans he had strapped to his back.

Maybe some things were this easy? He held out his hand. Sheppard's grip was strong and true and Rodney's feet moved without effort. Looking up into the watery wall of blue, he heard Sheppard say, "Now, about this plan to get rid of the Wraith…"

Turning to him, Rodney slanted a grin and followed Sheppard through the Ring.

______

From: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
To: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
Time: Tuesday – 15:02:36  
Subject: Progress

He yelled at Zelenka in the lab today – what a thing of beauty! Radek said it was good to have him back. McKay just got all blustery and ordered Dr. Simpson to get him a sandwich. You should have seen the look on McKay's face when she actually brought him his lunch.

Oh, and he called me John when he was puttering around in the jumper, but I don't think he realized what he was saying.

__

 

From: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
To: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
Time: Wednesday – 17:20:13  
Subject: Progress

Zelenka's team successfully shut down all power with the exception of the city's shield. He's confident there's sufficient energy to isolate the tower, yet not attract any curious bystanders. In any case, they're going back to put a failsafe in place restricting access to the hologram room. I believe Radek also wants to talk to you about expeditions to the area beyond the city. Apparently, initial testing on the sand indicates an interesting chemical component that could be useful. He is particularly interested in trying to determine how the city came to be buried.

Moving on to M5S-240, you'll be happy to know the focus has shifted to attempts at creating a magnetic field to repel the mist consciousness and reverse the polarity, which in effect will act as a shield to protect future expeditions. If successful, Radek and Dr. Zimmerman feel the shield could last as long as the consciousness, allowing for more exploration of the planet.

Your thoughts?

__

 

From: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
To: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
Time: Wednesday – 17:22:43  
Subject: Progress

Sounds good, but let's set up a meeting first. Not sure Rodney would be interested or even remember, but if we leave him out of the loop, there'll be hell to pay. You know – once he's back in the loop.

______

 

_Nowhere Man, the world is at your command!_

The door to John's quarters slid open. Without looking up, he knew who it was; there weren't many people who could enter a room _before_ they entered a room like Rodney McKay, even a not-quite-back-to-normal Rodney McKay. John looked up from his reading, expecting to find a dejected ex-planner with yet another question. But he found a real spark of recognition in those blue eyes and maybe a little frustration. That was good to see. The falling-apart, skeletonized carcass attached to the leather strap in Rodney's hand… not so much.

"Okay, I'll bite," Rodney said. He stood at the foot of the bed with the thing dangling out to the side as far as his arm would stretch. 

John's missing-Rodney radar pinged hard, so he tossed his comic book aside. "Good evening to you, too, McKay. What'cha got there?"

"On those rare occasions when I do laugh at your practical jokes, please don't take it as a sign of encouragement – in other words, ha-ha? Very funny? Not!"

The sound of Rodney's voice, as if his tongue had just been sharpened, helped to relax the pucker factor John had been living with for days. "Care to narrow that down a bit?" he asked.

"This… _object_ was in my quarters. I don't mind telling you… the reference eludes me."

For John, trying to hold back his smile was a valiant effort, and it was crumbling fast. He gave in and let Rodney have it full force. If anything, it was good cover.

"Oh for – did the entire base get hit with by some perpetual happiness ray while I was off world?" 

John cleared his throat. 

"Seriously, what gives with all the smiling?" He waved his hand in John's direction and carried on. "You, Teyla, Ronon – I went to the mess to find you, to ask about this and all they did was smile." He tugged at the strap. "It's obviously one of those 'gang up on the geek' things you and Ronon find so amusing – and then Ronon said it was good to have me back. Good to have me back like I'd been away on a trip to Earth or something – unless he meant M5S-240, which, what a bust – huge waste of time. Even Sam. I dropped by to tell her about the mission – you know, move along, nothing to see, yadda, yadda… "

John swung his legs over the side of the bed. "You know Ronon and Teyla? You talked to them?"

"Well, of course I know them, what – are you okay?"

John could have told Rodney that it was nothing a little tangle in the sheets together would help, but he was still a little iffy on this swell of lucidity; it might be a fluke. As it was, his heart was racing enough to make him dizzy. He decided to play it safe.

"So, what did Carter say?"

"What? Oh – nothing. Just sat there smiling, duh, which to be quite honest was a bit unnerving. Sometimes, it's hard to tell if she's smiling with you or at you, know what I mean?" Rodney took a deep breath; he seemed to have run down for the moment.

John stood quietly and faced Rodney. Over the past few days, his need to pull Rodney close and hold on had been as persistent as the earwormiest cartoon theme song, and he was steadily losing his grip on hiding it. He licked dry lips and reminded himself to be careful. 

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Instead, he patted Rodney on the shoulder. "Like Ronon said, it's good to have you back, buddy." It was turning out to be a nice night, and there was a partial six-pack in the mini-fridge. Maybe he could make that work to his advantage. 

"Thank you, Colonel Cryptic for being such a beacon of light."

John snorted and snagged his jacket from the back of a chair. The look on Rodney's face was pitiless as he lifted the carcass again.

"Are you not going to explain this?"

John returned the McKay glare with an arched eyebrow. "You mean you don't recognize Fluffy?"

Rodney's face drew up into an expression somewhere between bewilderment and constipation before he tossed the ragged thing onto a nearby chair. John had seen that look a thousand times, but never was it as welcome as now. He grinned and held up the beer. "C'mon, let's go find a nice shady spot and I'll tell you all about it."

But Rodney blocked his way before John could open the door, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Wait – are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, Rodney. I'll be better once I crack open a beer – let's go." When it was clear Rodney wasn't moving, John huffed. "Let's just say I haven't been myself for a few days and leave it at that, okay? Now, can we go?"

"Oh, okay, but aren't you forgetting something?" 

John grinned. "I don't think so."

And then Rodney stepped into John's space. The room went all tilt-a-whirly as his arm circled John's waist. _Please don't be a fluke, please don't be a fluke…_ It was like falling – leaning forward into that big, solid body, knees buckling just a little, Rodney's fingertips tracing the edge of his jaw. 

Carefully, John turned his head and let Rodney capture his lips, slow and sweet, then deeper, hungry. John pressed in, hip to hip, and thought _not a fluke, not a fluke_. He smiled against Rodney's lips.

"By the way, we're still on for tomorrow night, right?" Rodney asked, panting lightly. 

"Uh, sure… chess night, or is it movie night?"

The responding eye-roll was epic even for McKay. "Oh, you and your little euphemisms for sex. So amusing… stop, don't… you slay me."

The door shushed open again and John motioned Rodney out with the beer. "I'm thinking about it, McKay… I'm thinking about it."

 

______

From: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
To: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
Time: Wednesday – 19:20:13  
Subject: Progress

Just a heads up – Rodney's back! He just left my office. While I'm sure the snark isn't quite full McKay level, I've never been so glad to see that puffed-up ego in my life. I almost hugged him right there.

We'll need to debrief. And we may need a bit subterfuge in getting him to report to Keller and Rosà. Any ideas?

 

\--previous content deleted

__

From: Col. Samantha Carter [scarter@atl.mil.net]  
To: Col. John Sheppard [jsheppard@atl.mil.net]  
Time: Wednesday – 21:30:27  
Subject: Progress

Colonel?

__

~End

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my beta readers mischief and lilyfarfalla for their time, patience, and valuable input – the story is much better for them having their hands in it.


End file.
